


Sunday

by misaffection



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard knows there's a conversation he and Camille need to have, but her response isn't what he expects.</p><p>Companion piece to Beside, The Seaside and third in the <i>Ever Easy </i>'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday

For once Richard finds himself awake before Camille. She’s better at mornings than he is. Evenings as well. And every time in between. He sighs, aware of how different they are, of how he can’t ignore those things even though he wants to.

Ignoring the facts doesn’t stop them being true.

Another sigh and he looks at her; dark lashes dusting her cheeks, a small smile on her lips. It’s still very new and slightly uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes he’s not quite worn in yet. She’d kill him for that analogy, he knows.

She might kill him for what he has to say to her, but he’ll risk her anger. It’s better now than later and far too late. But neither is he willing to break the peaceful silence, not when doing so will hurt her. So he sits with a pillow against his back and just watches her sleep.

He can be selfish on occasion.

But it doesn’t last. Can’t. Time marches on even on a Sunday, relentless and remorseless. She wakes and stretches, her yawn turning to a sleepy smile when she finds him already up. Then that smile freezes and she frowns. She’s always been able to read him, even when he’s thought to keep everything buried.

“Have you been thinking again?” she asks, not quite annoyed. Not yet. That’ll come.

“A little.” He’s no idea how to phrase this. “If I was to say something, would you hear me out? Before yelling at me?”

Camille flops onto her back. “That would depend on what it was. If it involves the words ‘it’s not you’, I might very well smother you with a pillow.”

“It doesn’t. I’m not…” He’s not. But there is something she really needs to be aware of and might once she’s thought about it. “Are you going to listen?”

“Since you’re going to talk regardless, I suppose I’d better.”

A little more cross. Richard glances around the bedroom, checking for hard objects just in case. Satisfied he’s not in _too_ much danger, and at least here she doesn’t have her gun, he takes a deep breath.

“The Met has certain regulations, and I know the situation on Saint-Marie is more relaxed, but I’m still accountable.” Camille rolls her head and levels a withering look at him. “Hear me out,” he asks her and she motions for him to continue. “I know Dwayne and Fidel don’t care two hoots, but the Commissioner is another matter. I don’t care what might happen to me, but I won’t have you ruin your career over me Camille.”

Her irritated expression softens. “That’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”

Richard isn’t sure she’s taken it aboard. “It is something you ought to think about.”

“Assuming that I haven’t?”

He blinks. “Well, you can’t have.”

“I can’t? Why would you say that?” She sits up, which is really very distracting since she sleeps in the nude. “What makes you think I’m not already considered the possible risks?”

He drags his gaze upwards, too startled to consider how perfect her breasts are. “Because you came with me?”

“And?” She drags the word out, leaning towards him with that sultry smile. “I thought about it, Richard. I still said yes.”

That makes no sense whatsoever. “Why?”

Camille shakes her head and shifts closer. Smooth skin slides along his bare thighs. Hands grasp his shoulders, warm through the thin cotton of his nightshirt. A lithe, graceful movement sees her straddling his legs.

“You’re the DI,” she murmurs. “You figure it out.”

She kisses him then, slow and sweet. Fingers of one hand play with the hair at his nape, the others work the buttons of his shirt undone. He balks. Captures her wrist.

“Camille.”

“What?”

“It’s daytime.”

She giggles. “Why, what great powers of observation you have.”

“We can’t.”

“Because it’s _light_ outside?”

He squirms, not quite able to meet her eyes. “Someone might hear.”

“People can hear in the dark, Richard.”

Oh. He looks up at her. “Do you think…?”

“I don’t care if they did. It’s none of their business. We’re both consenting adults. Well, I am. You manage to be an adult on occasion.”

“Be nice.”

“I was trying to, but you seemed to be more concerned about what a bunch of complete strangers might think.” She pulls a face, but doesn’t get off him. “I came because contrary to everything you are, I like you. More than like. I… If they kick me out, there are other jobs I can do. There’s only one you.”

Shock courses cold, followed by a flood of heat at her confession. The possibility someone might hear no longer matters. It’s crazy. She’s crazy. It’ll be all that sun, no doubt. It’s obviously affected him, since he pulls her in and kisses her hard.

She is going to kill him, but he’ll die a happy man.


End file.
